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Shut Up, Shut Up, SHUT UP!
Do you ever have those moments where you just can't shut up? I get them all the time. Maybe I'll be sitting in class, and volunteer an answer that isn't right. The professor will say so, and I'll think about it and I'll know so, but I can't stop myself from arguing on and on that this is SO so, on and on and on, all the while dying inside because you idiot, you KNOW you're wrong. Or if someone asks me if I did something and yeah, I did, here's a detailed laundry list of all the embarrassing shit I ever did, total stranger, here you go! Or maybe it'll just be something between friends - you know, bring up something they did in the past. I know it hurts them, I know I need to shut up, but I just keep going about that time they fucked things all to shit and gee wasn't that funny . . . I've ruined my life doing shit like this, but I'll never be able to stop. Today is no different. Here is this older guy, all decked out in a pressed suit, standing as I sit in the wet grass. We're both waiting for the bus, but I actually look like someone who would be. I pick at the lawn in front of me, looking at him off and on. He looks like he's choking down vomit. "It's a pretty nice day, isn't it?" I say at last, because I hate how quiet it is. He nods a little, not too sharply. I look over at the sky in front of me and throw a clover at it. "It's a really nice day." I'm answering myself, because he won't. "Really nice. Yep." "It was raining earlier," I keep saying, stating the most obvious shit as I draw circles in the soil with my finger, stirring it up until liquid mud burbles out of the grass. And then, I don't know why, but I say - "They hated that." He's looking at me now. I don't know who I'm talking about, but he does. "I bet they would have loved to have gotten a chance to look at this weather." I pull out a clump of grass; I feel really calm. "When he put his umbrella down, he said he wanted to go out later. Didn't she wanna go, too?" The mud squishes under each footstep he takes toward me, but I don't feel like moving. "They were gonna take the kids. They were all looking forward to it. Jim had the dinosaur toys out, because he wanted to bury the T-Rex and look for it again." The old guy kneels down in front of me. He wants me to look him in the eyes, but I found a twig and stirring this grassy mud shit up is just the funnest thing in the world to me right now. "How do you know this?" he wants to know. He's ready to cry. "She didn't think it was gonna stop in time, but it did." The twig snaps off in the mush I've created, finally. I throw the broken part away. "But she never gotta see that. No one ever proved anyone wrong." I still have no idea who I'm talking about, but I definitely know I should shut up. But I never do. Instead, I look up and grin. "Aren't you amazed a gun that old could even fire?" It's really amazing when it fires off in my stomach. The blood's mixing in with the mud. The pain is incredible. Here I am, hunching over, thinking about and regretting all the shit I ever did, and I STILL CAN'T SHUT UP. "I mean, you weren't even keeping it in shape. It was a last-minute decision when you pulled that thing out of the closet and told everyone you couldn't stand them anymore." Oh God, this really hurts. I can hardly breathe with all this blood. And here he is, he's raising the gun again. I finally look him in the eyes. He's terrified, more terrified than I am. I still have no idea what I'm doing, but I can't shut up. I have to say it. I suck up all the blood I can. "They were your family, for God's sa - " Category:Mental Illness